


A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

by ThisThatAndTheOther



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Loup-garou | Rougarou, M/M, Poor Will, Rougarou Will, Supernatural Elements, Wendigo, Wendigo Hannibal, but he balances the scales in later chapters, the first chapter isn't kind, there are consequences to feeding people people hannibal, wendigo vs. rougarou, who will win?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6298999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisThatAndTheOther/pseuds/ThisThatAndTheOther
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal thinks he's found a mirror in Will, but for the first time in a long while, Hannibal's wrong.</p><p>Inspired by a Hannibalkink prompt entitled, "But have you considered a Rougarou?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

**Author's Note:**

> Saw a cool prompt and thought I'd try my hand at it. What a Rougarou is will be explained eventually!

With his visitors badge clipped into his pocket, Hannibal walked down the halls of the BAU. He had received a call from Jack the previous day, who had politely summoned him to his office. Though he was on his way to Jack’s office now, Hannibal hoped he would chance upon Will.

Hannibal smelled him before he saw him. His sense of smell being what it was, he was able to isolate the subtle trace of the man buried beneath the sterile odours of the BAU. It was shrouded by his cologne and something else. Flaring his nostrils, he picked out the slightest hint of iron amongst Will’s usual perfume. Blood. Hannibal swallowed against the sudden pool of saliva that flooded the hull of his mouth.

As he tamped down a wave of hunger, Will turned the corner. The man wasn’t watching where he was going, head bent over an open folder. The hand he held it with was inexpertly wrapped in a dirtied bandage. Up close, the smell of blood was even stronger. To a human, however, it would be non-existent.

Will nearly passed the psychiatrist before Hannibal lifted a hand. “Hello, Will.” He smiled when Will didn’t startle and only stopped before him.

“Oh,” Will grunted, “Dr. Lecter. Hi.”

“Will, your hand.”

Will grimaced and twisted his wrist to show the meat of his palm. The bandage was spotted with blood. He flexed it once and winced.

“Yeah, uh, an animal bit me.”

“Not one of your dogs, I hope.”

Will frowned, “No, no. I was out in the woods last night with my dogs, and this wild dog rushed us. I managed to scare it away but not before it got its pound of flesh.”

“Was it a coyote?”

Will shook his head and crossed his arms, hiding the bandaged hand under his bicep, “No, it was too large to be a coyote. But it wasn’t a wolf, either.” He shrugged, “I don’t know, it was too dark to get a good look. And once it was gone I had other things on my mind.”

The Will of Hannibal’s imagination would quickly round up his pack and herd them towards safety. There was no room for thoughts of retribution when his family was still at threat. Later, however, when his dogs were secure in his home, this Will of Hannibal`s thoughts would go hunting.

This was no time to dwell on those thoughts. He recalled the sorry state of Will’s clumsy bandage. That, coupled with the fact that it was still bleeding, meant it was susceptible to infection. “Whatever it was, I suggest you see a doctor.”

“Yeah, I’ll go tomorrow. I’m due for a tetanus shot, anyways.” Will sighed. “So what brings you here, Dr. Lecter?”

“Jack had asked that I meet him at his office.” He smiled gently and leaned closer towards Will, as though letting him in on a joke, “I think he feels guilty talking about cases while I have him over for dinner.”

Will smirked, “At best, Jack’s version of wining and dining is stale coffee and Doritos from the vending machine. You ready for that?”

“One does what one must; however, I’ve already had lunch.”

“You’re the lucky one, then. I, on the other hand, have to pay for my own Doritos.”

“Why don’t you come to mine for dinner tonight? To spare you any more meals from the vending machine.” Hannibal asked. He had hunted the previous night, and his fridge was full.

Will nodded, even as he started down the hallway, “Sure, sounds good. Look, sorry, Dr. Lecter, I gotta go. See you tonight?”

Hannibal nodded and watched him until he turned the corner. Once the smell of blood finally ebbed away, Hannibal continued towards Jack's office.

 

* * *

 

“Texas beef in a classic Bordelaise sauce with panisse and purple artichoke,” Hannibal announced as he placed a plate first in front of Will before setting one before his own seat.

Will’s eyebrows rose over the frames of his glasses. Picking up his fork, he pointed at the small white mound on the pink steak, “You’ll have to excuse me, is this the panisse?”

“Something else entirely. Veal marrow, with chive and garlic.” He supposed the marrow’s donor, though in his twenties, was young enough to suit the label.

“Wow,” Will lifted his wine glass in salute.

“Bon appetite,” Hannibal said before he rose the glass to smell the wine’s notes. Will was already cutting into his beef when Hannibal sipped at the wine. He stopped when a soft, errant noise caught in the back of Will’s throat, loud enough to be caught by Hannibal’s superior hearing.

“Does the taste surprise you?”

“It’s, uh—,” Will faltered. He began to blink rapidly as he stared hard at his plate, chewing noiselessly.

From his seat, Hannibal could see the beads of sweat making a sheen along Will’s hairline. He could hear the thundering staccato of Will’s heart beating against his chest, a wild thing writhing in his chest cavity.

These weren’t the usual reactions his cooking produced. Will was by no means usual himself, but his response was perplexing considering the dish itself. Though presented in an elaborate way, the dish was based upon modest flavours. Unless. Hannibal tightened his grip on his knife. Perhaps the effects were due not because of the flavours bursting across Will’s tongue but because of the recognition of the dish`s signature ingredient.

A moist swallow, “I’ve never tasted anything so… vibrantly before.”

Will’s breathing was sharp in the quiet dining room, ragged in an attempt to match his heart’s ferocious pace. Was it fear that forced the ventricles of his heart to pump so rapidly? Hannibal scented the air and couldn’t detect the tart, tangy head notes of distress.

“It’s like all of my meals leading up to this night have consisted solely of Cream of Wheat.” Will frowned, seemingly surprised by his own admission.

“You flatter me,” Hannibal said. The warmth in his tone, though tinged with curiosity, was entirely genuine. The grip on his knife loosened.

But it was if Will hadn’t heard him speak, as he all but launched himself at his meal. The edge of the dining table was a hard line against the profiler’s stomach, face hovering closely over the plate. Will shifted his grip on his utensil until the metal of his fork and knife was eclipsed in clammy, clumsy fists. The knife shrieked in protest against the harsh treatment – a sound loud enough that Hannibal was sure the porcelain was scored – but he spared his ruined dishware hardly a thought as Will shovelled the large hunk of meat into his awaiting mouth.

The small gasp left Hannibal’s mouth involuntarily. Though it was nearly soundless, it was as flamboyant a reaction as his emotional vocabulary allowed. No doubt Will couldn’t hear it over the sound of mastication – wouldn’t even be aware of Hannibal’s rapt attention as the scope of his own focus was no larger than the diameter of his plate.

Forgoing his cutlery altogether, Will began to tear into the flesh with his bare hands, his fingers gnarled close to his teeth as he ripped it from his mouth like an animal.

Hannibal sat back and watched Will devour his meal, more beast than man, taking a small sip of wine as he drank in a vision far more delectable than the Ermitage Le Meal Shiraz in his glass.

This was not fear. This was hunger. Hunger that Hannibal, too, once felt all those years ago. It had gnawed at his stomach lining like acid when he had first changed, the insatiable hunger persistent despite gorging himself on everything – everyone – he could get his hands on. He still felt it occasionally, though it was barely a pin prick compared to the initial blistering, all-encompassing _need_ of his transformation.

Could this be what Will was feeling at this very moment? Hannibal shivered in anticipation. For all his machinations he never once thought this the outcome. Unexpected but not unwelcome. No, far from it, he thought as he set his glass to the table. That Will carried the gene for Wendigo was beyond his wildest fantasies.

Will trembled over his empty plate. His wrists rested against the table, hands like claws and dripping juices. Slowly, he raised his head and revealed that his lips were equally stained, thick rivulets of sauce and saliva leaking from his gasping mouth.  His eyes were on Hannibal’s plate, which sat untouched before him.

He was out of his seat faster than Hannibal had expected him to move. He hurled himself over the distance between their place settings, dragging his body over his plate and the floral centrepiece and uncaring of the chaos his moving body caused on the table. In his haste to reach the plate, he nearly propelled himself right off the table, yet he stopped just shy of falling into Hannibal’s lap. The doctor only had time to push his chair back and escape the knife and fork Will pushed off during his rush.

Sparing no time, Will hunched over the plate and pressed his mouth full of the steak. Now that he was closer, Hannibal could hear the wet tearing sound of flesh and the suctioning squelch of juices in crystal clarity.

 “Will,” Hannibal said. He found himself smiling as he watched the display before him.

There was no reply except for the frantic sound of eating, and soon, the plate was clean.

Once done, Will sat back onto his haunches and stared at Hannibal. Hannibal stared right back, evaluating his kin. Will’s pupils were tiny pinpricks against the blue of his irises; his nostrils flared as his scented the air in quick, short inhales. He was searching for more. The transition, Hannibal knew, would require much more than two measly plates half-filled with vegetables. Even his well-stocked freezer wouldn’t be enough. They would have to hunt, together, to support Will through his evolution. Hannibal looked forward to it.

Will blinked rapidly, breaking the spell. He frowned before his eyes widened impossibly wide.

“Oh god,” his voice was thick and rough, “S-Sorry, I— Dr. Lecter, I,” Will scrambled off the table, nearly falling to his knees. He staggered into the wall in his rush to put distance between them.

It looked as though he would walk towards the door, but he was faint, swaying slightly despite his whole right side pressing into the wall.

Hannibal pressed himself out of his seat in one fluid movement and followed Will to the wall, watching as the man licked his lips.

“I don’t… fell well,” Will slurred, staring at some middle distance before him.

“No, I imagine you don’t, but you will, I promise you.” Hannibal caught his elbow as Will fell to his knees with a groan. He carefully guided him to the floor. "Better than you ever have before."

Will curled over with a desperate moan, arms hurled around his stomach.

Hannibal petted his head, “For all that I imagined you capable of, I had not dreamed such potential.” He pushed curls off of Will’s clammy forehead. “I dared not even hope.”

To do so would be folly. He had yet to meet another Wendigo since his sister, Mischa. It had been so long since he saw his own kind that he began to think he was the only one left.

Beneath his hand Will trembled. He keened sharply and toppled over, leaning against the wall. He gagged wetly, the sound of which slowly transformed into a groan. Hannibal watched, entranced, as Will raised a shaking hand to his mouth. He pressed his thumb and forefinger passed his upper lip, forcing the flesh into the shape of a snarl. He gripped his canine, and the tooth wiggled under the force of his fingers. With a crack, Will shrieked, and it came away from his gums. The hole it left behind gushed with blood.

The tooth fell to the floor as Will writhed, curling in on himself until his forehead was pressed against the floor and his hips were angled up in the air, knees underneath their sockets.

Hannibal watched in fascination as Will choked and more teeth fell to the floor in a pool of bloody saliva. Though his teeth were much sharper than any humans when he was in his true form, Hannibal had never lost any by force.

The sound of grinding and crunching bone filled the air. Will screamed and thrashed against the floor.

Hannibal frowned. This wasn’t the transformation of a Wendigo. He pressed at Will’s shoulders and lifted him away from the floor to watch as sharp, strong fangs slowly descended from bloody gums, moving along with what was developing into a pronounced snout. Beard thickened and spread over his face and down his neck. Ears narrowed and grew into tips. Bones broke and shifted his weight equally on all fours. Clothes ripped as newly formed muscles strained the seams.

Hannibal dropped him and retreated. From across the room, though he need not to confirm his suspicions, Hannibal sniffed the air. Canine. Beyond the metallic tang of blood and the pungent swamp of Apocrine sweat, the base notes of a Rougarou hung in the air. It was humid with it.

A final bone snapped into place and the accompanying scream transformed into a pained howl.

Before him, standing taller and wider than any domestic dog, was a newly formed and ravenous Rougarou. It shook itself free of what remained of Will’s tattered clothing. With a snort, it looked up, it’s glowing red eyes staring straight at Hannibal, and growled.

Hannibal ran. It followed.

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who Googled "fancy steak dinners"?


End file.
